


Whumptober 2019

by JustAnotherGirlmcg



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers
Genre: Hurt Tony Stark, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Peter Parker, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 21:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20880749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherGirlmcg/pseuds/JustAnotherGirlmcg
Summary: Percy Jackson, Peter Parker & Avengers... all of the above





	Whumptober 2019

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! JustAnotherGirlmcg here. I've been reading archiveofourown for a while now but have never posted anything on it; my main home is Wattpad (so feel free to check me out there!). I just love this community and figured I'd join in on the Whumptober fun!
> 
> Hope you enjoy, feel free to comment or read, I just appreciate you being here! If you have any tips for me on how to use this site just let me know, thanks haha. 
> 
> p.s. awful ending because i could draw it out for forever but i needed to end it so i just cut myself off!

Peter had thought the flying thing was kind of cool at first. 

It was cool before he was being dragged along at forty miles an hour behind this guy’s weird levitating motorcycle thing, bouncing off light poles and traffic lights and generally anything the dude thought would hurt him as he hung desperately to the web attached to the tail end of the vehicle. 

Still, he thought he was doing a pretty good job of keeping the evil man off the streets and away from the buildings he was attempting to blow a hole in with yet another unaccounted for alien weapon. Every once in a while he would fire back at Spiderman, but he was able to dodge each blow. 

Which was good, considering everything the blasts hit burst into flames with a comical ka-boom!

“You really are a pest, aren’t you, Spiderman?!” the man complained as he whipped around a turn, the momentum sending Peter straight into the cement wall of a building. He balled instinctively, gasping when the air was knocked out of him. Something inside him had popped too, which was concerning, but he didn’t have time to worry about it, so he ignored Karen’s complaints of broken ribs and lung contusions. He’d heal. He slipped down the line of web he had climbed up, nearly losing his grip on the thin strand as his senses focused on the newfound pain in his chest. 

“Peter, you have an incoming call from Mr. Stark,” Karen announced politely when Mr. Magic Motorcycle dipped through an intersection. Cars screeched to a halt as the red and blue clad hero fell from the sky into their point of view. Several blared their horns. He winced at the corresponding ache in his head. “Would you like to accept or-“

“Decline! No! No Karen,” Peter rushed, letting out a surprised grunt when the motorcycle shot in a new direction- up. Straight up. His arm was nearly torn out of the socket at the force, and probably would have been if he wasn’t half mutant spider. He couldn’t have Mister Stark yelling at him right now. He had everything under control anyway, there was no reason for-

“Mr. Stark has overridden your request. Connecting now.”

“What’s the point of eveN aSKing me then?!?” Peter yelled in frustration, glancing down once to realize just how high up he was. His stomach twisted when his mind compared the current situation to the one with Toomes on the flaming airplane, but luckily didn’t have much time to dwell on the matter when he heard a disappointed sigh. 

"Mr. Parker. Care to explain why FRIDAY is spamming me with notices that Spider-Man is making a mess downtown?”

“No,” Peter said simply as the criminal jerked down to the left, trying desperately to lose him. He couldn’t; the teen swallowed the adrenaline that filled him as he pulled himself up towards the tail of the bike. It was like the rope at school, only that the rope was now hurtling towards the ground at fifty miles per hour and swinging wildly between a lot of pointy hard buildings.

Peter never really liked the rope. 

“No? Did you just say no?”

The brunet grunted in response.

“Let’s try this one more time. Peter, care to explain-“

“No!” Peter cried in frustration. The vehicle evened out slightly. He was trying to focus, and the lecture wasn’t helping. 

“Kid, when I say ‘let’s try this one more time,’ that’s a nice way of saying no isn’t going to cut it. Explanation, now.”

“Mister Stark, I’m trying to stop the bad guy, I need to- ARGH!” he grunted as a blast nearly hit him square on. He was lucky his spidey senses had been attuned to the hit, allowing him to slip down just enough to avoid it. 

“Kid?”

“I need to focus!”

“Why’d you yell? What kind of bad guy? Where?”

Peter frowned. He felt guilty before he even went through with it, knowing Mr. Stark would be outrageously angry, but he was trying not to die and it was difficult enough as it was without a game of twenty questions. “End call!”

“Peter!”

“Ending call,” Karen said cheerfully just as he reached for the man. The back of his coat flapped in the wind like a cape, and Peter could almost reach it… his fingers grazed the material.   
He went to jump, but before he could blink, the man slashed backwards with a jagged knife. It caught Peter along his palm, the resulting pain sharp and unexpected. Again Spiderman fell back away from his goal with a sharp cry.

But then the man slashed the web, and he was actually falling. 

His first thought?

Well, shit.

He aimed his web shooters at the bike again, the web just barely grabbing hold before jolting him forward again. He heard the bad guy curse in frustration.

“Not gonna lie, that was kinda rude, and I’m a little hurt,” Peter quipped over the wind, his muscles straining as he struggled to hold on, which proved to be much more difficult with blood coating one of his hands. His arms burnt with exertion, and he wished he could rip the sticky mask off his face. He pressed his fingers to his palm, ignoring the sting to attach another line of webbing to the bike.

But nothing happened. 

A red light flashed in the corner of his eye. “Karen, what’s that?” he asked, slightly panicked. “Why aren’t my web shooters working?!?” 

“Your web formula is compromised. It appears that unusually high levels of viscoelasticity have caused unforeseen cohesion within the devices.”

He had nearly a second to comprehend that information when the motorcycle dipped once again, leaving him weightless for a millisecond before he was being pulled towards the ground again; the man turned around, again with his knife, and cut down. 

Peter’s eyes widened as he saw the line snap, knowing that he couldn’t save himself from this fall. 

He flailed, trying desperately to do something, anything.

But the fall was too high yet too shallow.

He didn’t have time.

Red and blue hurtled towards a car below him.

He extended his hands. Maybe he could catch himself. 

He hit the windshield.

His wrists popped.

His head hit metal.

Then, nothing. 

Sweet nothing.   
____________________________________________________________________________________

Everything hurt.

That was the only think Peter could truly comprehend. His mind swam in circles, thoughts just out of reach as he struggled into consciousness. Every limb burned with tension; his heart pounded against his skull like a kick drum. The ringing in his ears wasn’t helping, at all. 

He kind of just wanted to go back to sleep. Nothing had hurt then.

Sleep.

Unfortunately, seconds before he would have drifted off there was shouting around him. Someone screaming. Pressure on his arms. Someone rolled him onto his back, the resulting burst of pain from his abdomen so intense and unexpected that a sharp cry escaped his lips. 

“Shit Pete, shit shit shit…” the familiar voice continued to curse, enough so that Peter was persuaded to open his eyes to see just what the hell was going on. 

The light burned. He groaned, turning his head to hide from it. But that hurt. It hurt bad. Note to self: don’t move. 

The man above him continued to yell about something. The yelling hurt bad too. Peter’s eyes flicked to the source: Mister Stark. Why was Mister Stark hurting him?

No, he wouldn’t hurt him. His mentor looked scared. Something else was wrong. His hands floated above his broken body, trembling terribly even encased in metal.

Gold titanium alloy. Peter knew that.

“Mister… Mister Stark?” Peter choked out blearily. Why was it so hard to breathe all of a sudden? Did breathing get harder? Did he forget how to breathe? The cough that ran through him hurt. He couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped him, but he almost didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed. 

The billionaire was soon directly in his line of vision, the face mask of his suit flipped up. Even in his somewhat delirious state, the kid could tell that he was panicking and instantly felt guilty. “Hey buddy, hey, you with me?”

Peter blinked. Was he? He didn’t know. He knew he was in pain. Lots of pain. So he commented on that first. “S’ hurts,” he mumbled. 

“Yeah, then don’t fall four stories then next time, Spiderling, you got that? Kid?”

That didn’t seem right. He fell? Four stories? That was a lot of stories. Less than five stories, but more than three. “I…Immn fell?”

“Jesus kid, yeah, wanna tell me why you didn’t use those web shooters of yours?” Tony’s breathing hitched; he was much too close to a panic attack, but he couldn’t do that now. Peter needed him. Peter couldn’t follow a damn order or from sticking his nose in to fights that weren’t his, but he still needed him. Tony would launch his lecture the minute he knew the kid would be fine. 

Peter didn’t respond, his chest rising and falling sporadically. Tony felt as though he’d been tazed as he watched helplessly- his body tense, frozen, spasming all at once. “FRIDAY, what’s going on with him?” he demanded. 

The Spider-man AI- what had Pete named it, Karen?- responded for him. “Peter has multiple fractures of the ribs and arm, and suffers what may be a mild or severe pulmonary contusion. Would you like me to specify other injuries and their symptoms?“

“What the hell do you mean by severe?”

“A pulmonary contusion is the bruising on the lungs, causing abdominal pain, swelling, difficulty breathing-“

“How do I fix it?” Tony rushed out, tensing as the crowd around him thickened. He bristled as a rather callous overseer yelled “Whoa, is Spider-Man dead?” pulling out a cell-phone to document the scene in front of him. “Iron Man!” screeched another. 

“Medical attention is required. Although, you can keep Mr. Parker in consciousness. Studies have not confirmed the benefit in concussion cases but one report reads-“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it FRI,” Tony muttered, gripping the kid’s shoulders lightly. “Hey kid, you awake?”

“Mmm.”

“Good. Stay that way.”

“Missa Stark… jus… ort nap…”

Tony couldn’t breathe. “Nope, Pe-Spider-Man, official Avengers mission. Stay awake.”

A sharp whine escaped him. “But… s’hurts.”

Tony exhaled sharply. “Yeah, I know. I gotta get you back to the Tower… this might hurt, okay bud?”

He didn’t wait for a response. The face plate snapped down before he began gently guiding the kid into his arms. The minute he lifted him off the ground, the teen let out a guttural scream that cut Tony to the core. The crowd around him gasped like a damn live audience track.

“No, please-“ Peter hyperventilated. “No, no,” he wheezed, his breaths having a distinct whistle to them as Tony took off, desperate to avoid the dozens of iPhones shoved in his face. His eyes opened, the white of the mask staring back at him in panic. “I can’t… Missa Stark, I can’t, I can’t…”

“Can’t what? Talk to me kid,” Tony begged, tightening his grip around the teen. 

Peter’s eyes scrunched up as he head shook back and forth. “Can’t- can’t breathe.”

“Boss, it appears that Peter has sustained a punctured lung that has digressed into a partial collapse. I suggest-“

“Notify the med team,” Tony said simply, detached, as though the information didn’t bother him, but he could hear his racing heartbeat echoing within the metal suit of armor.

“Kid!”

“Sorry,” he whimpered. He didn’t want to die. He couldn’t breathe right, and it was starting to make him dizzy. He knew when people couldn’t breathe they died. And he couldn’t. And he was dizzy. Dizzy and heavy and floating all at once. He closed his eyes as clouds and blue zipped past him, falling once again into darkness. 

“Shit, Pete, not again- wake up, bud-“

The kid’s face was bruised and swollen. And his lips… were blue?

“Why are- why is he blue?”

“Cyanosis- lack of oxygen causes the blue discoloration of the skin.”

Tony cursed. “Hang on, kid. Hang on.”  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….  
Peter was falling. 

Falling, falling, falling.

He knew it, too. He knew the man had cut the webbing. He knew his shooters were malfunctioning. Not working.

And he was falling.

Falling, falling, falling.

He hit the ground and his eyes shot open, a short gasp escaping his lips. Pain hit him first, before the panic that something was covering his mouth and nose. That meant he couldn’t breathe, if something was covering his mouth and nose. It needed to go, it needed to get off him now-

“Whoa, buddy, whoa… it’s alright, you’re alright,” Tony shot up from his seat, gently guiding Peter’s desperate yet unfocused hands away from the oxygen mask around his face. The young hero gasped as he fought back. What was the man doing? He wasn’t alright, he couldn’t breathe! He couldn’t breathe!

“I can’t-! I-“

“You can, kiddo, come on. Calm down, you’re okay. In and out.”

His heart tightened at the fear on the kid’s face, the tension not releasing even as the terrified expression melted into one of confusion. 

He glanced around the room, slowly taking in his surroundings. He was in the tower, he thought. The medical wing. A hospital bed. There was beeping, and he was cold. His chest hurt- his head, too. He met his mentor’s eyes carefully.

“Mister Stark?”

The man looked terrible. He had always had bags under his eyes, but these were deep shades of purple. His goatee was unshaven, miskempt, and even his casual t-shirt and jeans had been traded in for a ragged MIT hoodie and old sweatpants the man must have kept from college. His mind was still buffering, taking too long to process any of the information bombarding him, but Peter could see how he gripped his left wrist. How his hands were shaking. 

“Four ribs, two wrists, a lung, a car, my suit.”

Peter blinked. 

“That’s everything you broke in the span of not listening to me. Are you happy?”

The young superhero’s eyes furrowed together. He wasn’t sure how to answer that question, and to be honest, his brain was bouncing around his skull like an endless game of Pong and he wasn’t entirely sure what the man had meant by he broke a lung. Was he angry? How did he break a suit?

His blank expression must have gave him away, because Tony inhaled deeply in a visible attempt to calm himself down. He wiped his hands on the gray fabric of his pants, tapping his fingers twice across the red armrest of the chair he sat in. 

Cautious brown eyes met lost ones. "Do you even remember what happened?"

Peter thought back to his dream. "I... I fell, right? 'Cause of the... the um, webs."

Tony grimaced, sorting through the thousands of quips and remarks he could reply with. He settled with, "That's it?" It can out shorter than he intended, but it was better than yelling.

Peter frowned. "I'm sorry."

The billionaire laughed tightly, which caught him off-guard. He shifted uncomfortably, which proved to be a bad idea. Pain lit through his entire chest as though someone had fired a flamethrower at him. He gasped involuntarily, causing his mentor to jump to his feet to help settle him.

"You gotta be careful, Pete. Even with your super-healing you're not in good shape."

"Yeah," he gruffed, his eyes shut as he waited for the agony to subside, "I feel that now." A few more moments passed before it was bearable. "What happened?"

Tony rolled his eyes, sitting back down before launching into a story that seemed more like a lecture, but despite everything, Peter smiled.

Even when he got way in over head, even when things seemed bad- his hero would always be there.

Like he always had.


End file.
